Free A Heart Deceived by Michelle Griep

was dead.
    “Will?” Ethan’s ragged voice grated on his ears as he shifted to take in the high cheekbones and sculpted nose on a sprite of a woman—definitely not Will, but oh so much like him. He opened his mouth to speak more, but only a groan emerged, which elicited a sharp gasp from the angel that held him. His friend had often spoken endearments of his sister, but never once had he told of her ethereal beauty.
    Miri’s fine brows drew together on skin as pristine as a white rose petal. Would it feel as soft? Her lips, full though pulled into a line, were set in a face framed by ringlets of hair banded with copper strands, mostly caught up but a few loose and sweeping. She smelled sweet, the fragrance of violets fresh from a rain. Life began to seep into him, especially when he realized the cushion cradling his head was her lap.
    “What did you say?” Miri’s voice, while resonant and pleasing, carried an odd mixture of expectation and despair. She frowned, a thumbnail curve highlighting her chin.
    The same indentation Will sported whenever he’d been agitated.
    Grief welled anew, punching Ethan in the gut. How he missed his friend’s banter, the camaraderie … he swallowed, trying to work up some moisture in his dry mouth. He’d have to tell her. “Will …”
    Miri’s muscles tensed, her forearm rigid as she ceased mopping his brow. Her eyes shimmered, large and luminous. How big the tears would be, how deep the hurt would cut.
    No, he could not do this. Not yet, anyway. “Will … you help me?”
    Her shoulders sank, and the grim line of her mouth softened. “I believe that I am, sir.” She set down the rag she’d used to mop his brow and reached for a tankard on the pew behind her. “Can you sit?”
    He must look as bad as he felt for her to ask such a question. In truth, though, could he? Forcing first one arm, then the other, he pushed himself up and propped his back against the pew edge. The effort stole his breath and began a wave of coughing.
    “Here.” She cupped the back of his head and held the mug to his mouth. “Drink.”
    Indeed, she was an angel. Cool liquid passed over his cracked lips, some leaking down his beard, but most soothing his throat and filling his empty belly. He did not stop until he drained the tankard. When she pulled away, he swiped his face with his sleeve. “Thank you.”
    She smiled, the light of which satisfied more than the drink. “It is a trifle.”
    Once again she twisted around, resettling the mug and retrieving a cloth-bound bundle. She unwrapped a half loaf of bread, releasing a yeasty, almost nutty aroma. “Are you hungry?”
    His stomach constricted, and it took all his restraint to reach for the bread without shaking. He intended to savor each bite, but after the first, he lost all reserve. Within moments, nothing but crumbs remained in his hands, and he licked those off as well.
    Shame set in, a slow burn beginning in the gut he’d filled like an animal. And he could smell no better. What a beast this woman must think him. His chin sank to his chest. He should leave now and never come—
    Her soft laugh breached his wall of humiliation.
    “I guess you were.”
    He shot her a sideways glance. “What?”
    “I guess you were hungry.” She stood, brushing wrinkles and a few of his crumbs from her dress, then collected the mug along with the cloth. Her smile faded. “But I am afraid you must leave now.”
    Oh no, not this soon, not when she stood there looking so appealing. “Miri, I—”
    “Why do you call me that?” She stepped nearer, the fabric of her skirt brushing against his shoulder. Her head cocked like a robin about to devour a worm. “How do you know my name?”
    His chest deflated. He was a worm. It was his fault her brother lay in a pauper’s grave and another man lay dead. He opened his mouth to tell her. Lord, give me strength. Ha. If only he had a sixpence for each time he’d prayed those words the past fortnight. “I … uh